I Can't Use This Anymore

Right. 46 is Quentin Tarintino. If that is his real name. I hate him because he sucks. I hate him because I think I was the only person bored with Pulp Fiction. I hate him because he makes shitty movies. But mostly I hate him because he also didn't respond to repaying my student loans.
Go rip off another movie you twat.
Whoever the fuck invented receipts can eat a dick. It's bad enough I am standing in line to buy my Copenhagen behind six people all buying gum and Gatorade and paying with checks, now I have to have paper saying I bought Copenhagen and an Orange. Great. This will come in handy. I don't need to prove I like oranges or I dip. I don't need proof of purchase. I can't take the fucking orange or dip back. But thank you for letting me throw this piece of paper away for you. Asshat.
My mother doesn't come around here. She doesn't see the man her son became. She wouldn't recognize me if she did. She would see the once green eyes that looked like the ocean have changed. The color is becoming more brown everyday, as if a giant mudslide polluted the waters that once flowed in my eyes. The flowing glow that once made the ocean sparkle is also gone. The waters are still and appear to be coughing up all the fish that once thrived in the depths.
My father doesn't call. He doesn't vocalize the disappointment to his first born. No grandchildren will be given to the aging man. No common bond can be shared between what would be an incompetent boss and his best employee were we the same age. No kind words are passed between the drunk and the priest.
My parents don't know where I am. They have my address, time zone and phone number. They know where I live. They send me mail and gifts. They write letters expressing great pride. They ask for photographs of me. They tell their friends all about how well I have done for myself. They have no idea the thoughts that run through me head. They can't fathom the insanity I dream of. They will never know who I am or how I feel. They fear that I won't return. They don't realize I am already gone.
I have a friend who says God is a myth. He isn't mythological enough for me. The kid who plays shortstop for me says that there is an Angel watching over me. He isn't watching close enough for me. My priest says the end is near. It's not near enough for me. My bartender says I've had enough. I haven't had enough for me.